


Irony Is Such a Bitch

by sdwbf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sex with Sentient Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwbf/pseuds/sdwbf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curse changes Sam into a dog and Dean into his human bitch. And that's just the beginning. I've tried to make it clear Sam's mind is present and accounted for throughout. Based on <a href="http://take-the-knot.livejournal.com/38093.html?thread=531405#t531405">this prompt</a> for the comment meme at Take_the_knot. Since I imply many pregnancies in Dean's future, I opted against indicating the puppies could become human, but I didn't say they couldn't either.</p><p>Posted to Live Journal Jan 1, 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irony Is Such a Bitch

  
**Irony Is Such a Bitch** by sdwbf

The only thing Dean Winchester hated more than irony was a witch. Combine the two, and well, he wasn't exactly anxious to open his eyes to deal with whatever she'd hit him with. Yeah, a freaking curse. Covered the freaking witch part. The irony thing was he and Sam hadn't come to town looking for the previously mentioned bitch. Been a vengeful spirit gig. A nasty one. Thing had already offed seven people in less than two weeks.

Hadn't been all that hard to figure out the who behind the spirit or find the bones. Pretty standard hunt body count aside, but they hadn't taken into account a witch doing a piss poor job of pulling the spirit's strings. She showed a few seconds after they got the grave dug out. Ranting and raving about the damned spirit being hers like Bob went with Harry Dresden. Yeah, Dean had gotten the literary reference. Despite Sam's bitchy comments to the contrary, Dean did read and he particularly loved poking holes in urban fantasy books. Thing was good old fictional Harry had a hell of a lot better control over a far less homicidal Bob.

This bitch hadn't done much more than piss off an already murderous spirit. She was in total denial about 'her' Sebastian being behind all the deaths and screamed at them that they were trying to destroy her by destroying him. Peachy. Dean had distracted her while Sam had finished the damned salt and burn, but that was the only thing that had gone down right.

Details were kind of hazy, but Dean remembered calling her a crazy bitch, her looking really pissed off about it, and her shouting some shit at about the same time Sam salted the bones. Salt must have broken her sloppy binding spell on Sebastian, because he went for her. The spirit managed to rip her apart in the split-second between the salt and the match. Went up in flames even as her death scream echoed through the cemetery.

Death curse. That was something else out of the Dresden Files and something that sometimes happened in the real world. Force of hers had sent Dean crashing to his knees, fighting oblivion. God, he wanted to pass out, but between the desecrated grave and the witch guts strewn all over the place, he and Sam needed to get gone and fast.

Dean forced open his eyes and struggled to his feet. "Sammy?" he called, but his brother didn't answer. He blinked a few times to focus and saw his brother sprawled on the ground. Heart pounding in fear, he stumbled over to him. To his relief he discovered Sam breathing easily enough, but out for the count. Peachy. Stupid little brother had four inches and several pounds of muscle more than his long suffering older brother. Although Dean wouldn't let him if he was even remotely conscious, Sam could carry Dean without much trouble. Reverse wasn't true.

He sighed, then pulled Sam up over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. Cursing under his breath about freaking witches, irony and the day Sam got taller than him, he managed to get them both back to the Impala. He wanted to burn rubber for Singer Salvage, but they were a good two days' drive away, but he remembered a bolt hole Bobby had set up about an hour or so northeast of here. Have to do because even busy focusing on Sam and putting the cemetery in his review mirror, Dean couldn't quite distract himself from the fact he felt freaking weird. Good chunk of his lower torso tingled like a leg that had gone to sleep. Couldn't see that as a good thing, but at least he could still drive.

Tingling hadn't gotten better by the time he pulled up in front of a fairly decent looking cabin, but it wasn't worse, so he'd take it. He glanced at his all but snoring brother. "Any chance you might wake up and haul your own gigantor ass inside?"

A thin line of drool trickled out of the corner of his mouth. "Oh, that's attractive," Dean muttered and got out of the car. He took a moment to glance around. Bobby had set the place up off a small access road in a fairly heavily forested area. Was far enough away from anything touristy enough to attract attention, but had a small solar-powered generator and running water courtesy of a well. Nice enough place to retire to, safe as anything short of the panic room could be. Downside was no cell phone reception and a forty minute drive to the nearest blink-and-miss-it town. But cursed beggars couldn't be choosers.

With a groan, he pulled Sam back up over his shoulders and into the place. Wasn't exactly gentle about dropping his sasquatch-hide on the bed. Yeah, bed. As in one. Back to the beggars not being picky thing.

By the time he hauled their gear inside Sam was doing his usual 'about to wake up' twitching, so maybe they'd dodged a curse bullet with nothing more than some tingling and a long nap. Deciding to scrub off the cemetery dirt, he hit the shower. Hot water included. Had to love solar generators. Long as they were set up in a sunny enough place, they kept things going. Even seemed to help with the tingling. Yeah, they'd gotten off lucky because even a lame witch could get some real juice behind her death energies.

He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. His denial slammed into reality as he opened the door to find a large dog lying where he'd left Sam. 'Great Dane' a really useless part of his brain identified the breed, but the thing had fur the same color as Sammy's hair and it was glaring at him with a canine version of all too familiar eyes. "God damnit, I hate fucking witches!"

A deep booming bark echoed the sentiment, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he hated his life. Okay, first things first. "Sammy, you under all that fur or did your brain check out on a Marmaduke vacation?"

The dog glared at him in a definite 'no voice, dumbass' look. "Fine, bark once for yes, twice for no, and three times for bitchface #4."

Sam barked five times, then huffed loudly. Clearly bitchface #12. "Language, Sammy."

His stupid brother had the nerve to growl.

"Oh, like you didn't deserve a little payback. How many weeks did you call me 'pretty kitty' after that fiasco in Montana?" Yeah, not the first time one of them had done time as another species, and the good news there was that transformation curses ran out of juice after a couple of days. He reminded Sam of that, conveniently leaving out the whole death-energy thing.

Sam huffed again making Dean roll his eyes. "At least you don't need a litter box," he muttered, padding into the kitchen area to check the pantry for something that could serve as doggie chow. Lots of canned tuna which caused a couple of flashback moments, and he fought the urge to purr. Anyway, no Alpo, not that he expected any. Did dogs eat tuna? He thought back over what he remembered Bobby's old dog, Rumsfield, eating and decided there wasn't much a dog didn't eat so it'd do. So neither of them would starve; they had a decent, relatively safe place to stay; and it should all be good, except …

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling strange. Tingling was gone, but he kind of … ached? He shifted, then gasped softly as a warm fluid oozed out of his ass. Grossed out and embarrassed as hell, he dashed for the bathroom. Tossing the towel aside, he reached for the toilet power, but the dampness clinking to both the terry cloth and the paper was clear, not brown. No smell either. Tentatively he touched it. Felt slick, like … lube.

Frowning, he pushed a finger inside his leaking hole. Went in smooth, no burn or need to loosen the muscle, but the ache got worse and he whimpered. Freaking whimpered. The sound apparently alarmed Sam who came bounding into the room.

Dean stared at him. Damn, Sam was big. His eyes were even with Dean's nipples and the damned things hardened at the concerned gaze.

Sam tilted his head in confusion and studied him. If a dog's eyes could widen, Sam's did, then he whined and nudged Dean's groin. Dean's own gaze followed the push of the nose and he discovered his balls were gone. Should be time for an epic freak out, but he got it now. They'd moved up inside him. The tingling had been a side effect of his own body changing.

His cock looked the same, but it stayed flaccid even as his hole contracted and more fluid escaped. Sam sniffed, his head nudging at Dean's thighs, then he froze like he was having a 'what the fuck am I doing?' moment.

"Called her a bitch, Sammy," he whispered. Could still remember the livid fury contorting her face when he'd said that. "So she turned me into one. Bitch in heat."

Sam back peddled out of the room with a speed that at any other time would be hilarious. Dean followed, telling himself he needed to get some clothes on. Maybe it was even the truth, but when he got into the main room and saw Sam scratching wildly at the door trying to get out, he sank to the floor, getting on his hands and knees, his bare ass facing his transformed brother.

"Need you, Sammy," he whimpered. "Need you in me so much." Insane. Sam had always been proportional and the few times Dean had caught sight of his cock it had been impressive sight. Almost intimidating. Would be even larger now and there would be … oh, God, he'd have a knot. Thought made his hole convulse. "Please, please, please."

He didn't know if Sam responded to his begging or if the scent of a bitch in heat finally overcame his upstairs brain, but claws clicked on the floor, then a warm, smoothness pressed against his hole. He felt the puff of breath against his flesh and oozed more slick. A moment later, Sam's tongue slid along his soaked thighs. Pure torture, utter bliss and the more Sam lapped at him the more he oozed.

He moaned loudly when that talented tongue finally began tormenting his hole. Felt so crazy good, Dean couldn't take it for long and he tried to shift away.

Sam growled loudly and nipped Dean's thighs making him freeze, obediently holding his position for his stud. Sam apparently decided there'd been enough foreplay and mounted him, his heavy body settling over Dean's back and his huge forelegs encircling Dean's chest.

Twice Sam thrust and missed his target, but on the third try, his huge cock sank into Dean's hole. "Oh, God, yes, Sammy," he groaned. So good, so hot. "Fuck me, fuck my doggie cunt." Babbling, couldn't stop, didn't even want to. His words became a continuous pant of harder, faster as Sam slammed into him with enough force to lift Dean's knees off the floor.

And the orgasms. Christ, the orgasms. They were all centered in his ass – his cock hanging limply between his legs like some worthless decoration. But they were so intense, sending shuddering waves of pleasure through him. Didn't think it could get any better, but then he felt the press of a hard bulb against his ass. The knot. His cunt hot and eager for it, he shoved backwards, then screamed in pain as it abruptly breached him. Came so hard he almost blacked out, too.

Felt so full, so … complete. "That's it, Sammy," he moaned, his ass milking all that lovely seed, pulling it up into his waiting womb. "Breed your bitch, fill my belly with your pups." Sam nipped at his shoulder, marking him, then turned them ass to ass. Dean came one last time at the sensation and all but collapsed, his body hanging from Sam's gigantic knot.

*

Sam used him six more times that day although he'd sort of sniffed, nudged and whined for permission the first two. But after that he seemed to get how much being a bitch turned Dean on, and bitches submitted. Or at least this one did. Dean got so turned on by thinking about Sam simply taking him whenever he damned well pleased that Sam had to breed him one last time before they fell into the bed exhausted.

Went on like that for four days, not that Dean was complaining. Even in canine form, Sam knew how to control him, how to dominate him. Kept him naked and well fucked while Dean managed to get off his hands and knees often enough to feed them. Worked for both of them, but it was also well beyond the deadline for the end of any transformation curse he'd ever heard of. He could feel it in his bones – this one was permanent. And that upset him. Not because he'd spend the rest of his life as a bitch – for the first time in his life, he was happy and he didn't think he could handle changing back – but because he missed his brother. Helped cut through the sexual hunger and let him think some. "She was pissed at me," he said one evening as he rested between rounds all curled up with his stud. "I think you got hit just because she wanted to make sure I got fucked fast."

Sam growled softly and licked his face obviously too sated to get properly pissed off at Dean. And maybe that was the problem. When Sam was eight he'd informed Dean they would get married as soon as Sam was big enough to take care of him. Dean had told him as gently as he could that they couldn't have that sort of relationship, but he'd known Sam hadn't really ever gotten over his crush on him. Even if he hadn't, Dean's time as a cat would have told him. Sam had constantly cuddled and cooed at him. And Dean had liked it enough, he hadn't used his claws to put a stop to it. Now, Sam had Dean all pliant and submissive whenever he wanted. Sort of thing that had to mess with Sam's perspective. Maybe all he needed was a push to get it back.

"Sammy," he whispered, "I'm yours now." Curse had given them that. Had let Dean admit the sexual attraction had always gone both ways and absolved him from being the responsible big brother who always had to do the right thing by his kid brother. Now he could relax and be what he'd always fantasized about in his deepest dreams – a fuck toy for his brother. "Nothing's going to change that, but I'm pregnant." He knew it as clearly as he knew he'd never stop being a bitch. "Couple of months or so I'm giving birth to at least one pup and I'm scared. Need you." He whimpered to emphasize he wasn't kidding.

For a few minutes Sam went really still, then the body entwined with Dean's rippled and his brother took form. "I'm here," he said, his arms tightening around Dean. "I'll take care of you." Just like he'd always wanted to and Dean was finally ready to allow.

"That's good." And it was. All good, except … damn Dean was going to miss that knot.

Almost as if he could hear him, Sam chuckled. "Don't worry, beautiful, I can change back and forth. No way I'm going to give up splitting your gorgeous ass with my knot." To prove it, he went dogSam again and fucked Dean harder than he'd ever done before. Yeah, it really was all good.

*

Dean started to show after three weeks. Nothing dramatic, just a slight swell of a stomach that used to be flat no matter how many bacon cheeseburgers he ate, and he hid it easily enough by simply buttoning up his flannel over-shirt. At least when they drove into Connersville for supplies or a meal at the diner. When they were at home, Dean didn't wear much beyond a pair of loose drawstring pants, if Sam let him dress at all.

Amazingly enough Connersville was big enough for wi fi and cell reception so Sam was able to do some research while Dean checked in with Bobby. He told the man a limited version of the truth, that they were tired and taking a long break. Dean figured out any deeper explanations could wait until after the pup was born and all doubt as to whether or not he was going to spend the rest of his life knocked up with Sam's pups was gone.

His water broke three months almost to the minute of their first coupling. Hurt, but his labor lasted less than an hour and in truth Sam's knot was almost bigger than the puppy sliding out of Dean's body. The second one proved a similar size. The afterbirth followed. "Two tits, two pups, bitch," Sam said, cleaning up their babies, then settling them against Dean's chest to nurse. "Bet it'll be your standard litter."

He made a vague, contented sound of agreement, enjoying the sensation of small snouts pulling at his nipples. He hadn't grown breasts, but the nipples themselves had gotten more prominent and very sensitive. When doggieSam wasn't pounding Dean's ass, the human version had already developed a fondness for sucking them.

Also loved pounding Dean's hole while Dean bent low enough for their pups to feed. Made him feel all kinds of dirty and he came all the harder. Yeah, he'd been right – he was Sam's bitch for life. Loved it and couldn't wait for his pups to be weaned so his womb would catch again. Crazy. Finally had let Sam be the love of his life and had found happiness facing a future full of being barefoot and pregnant. And he owed it all to a witch's attempt to destroy him. So, hey, maybe irony wasn't so bad after all.

end


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